While on holiday in Spain, my daughter-in-law, my granddaughter, her friend and I hosted a farewell dinner for the friend’s partner, his mother and aunt. We had a bits and bobs feast: paella, empanadas, salad, sautéed vegetables, cheese, bread, wine.

Lots of talk, exchange of family history, a touch on world affairs, opinions about people, places and hairdos. The mature ladies wowed the youth with memories of telephones that were attached with a cord to the wall, parents who drove a horse and wagon, milkmen who delivered the milk to one’s door, walking to school … the usual chit chat of friends’ gathering.

As we closed the door, bidding them a bon voyage, I realized that when I was growing up in Kentucky, I would not have sat next to these people on the bus. I would not have used the same rest room. I would not have shared the same drinking fountain.

Proud, greedy, powerful men had erected a wall of hatred between their families and mine. Suspicion and avoidance became the norm. As we waved them on their way, I mourned the loss of the missed opportunities, the missed friendships, the missed laughter and tears. Life sometimes cracks open a door; we have to scurry through.  

My dear new friends, we are all on the same side now.

Charlene Hagen
South Portland